Walking around in a self-induced daze.
Succumbing to my inner rage.
I saw how humans looked at me.
I cared not what they might see.
I could see no reason why.
Some of these humans shouldn’t die.
For my sanity, should I cry?
Like a sleeping dog, should I let it lie?
My actions soon get out of hand.
 Humans cannot understand.
My inner sight has turned blood red.
I see around me the living dead.
Those who have no right to live.
 Taking everything they never give.
I point my finger like a gun.
Expecting them in terror to run.
It doesn't happen, they all converge.
Someone shouts, ‘’He’s on the verge’’.
‘’On the verge of what’’, I scream.
There is no escaping this bad dream.
‘’Grab him quick, his mind is lost’’.
‘’If he escapes we pay the cost’’.
Rushed and tumbled to the ground.
I’m beat and pummeled all around.
Soon berserk red rage sets in.
I become inhuman then.
I throw them off, like so much trash.
My actions then becoming rash.
I rip, I rend, body parts fly.
Those not running in terror, soon die.
The crowd is gone, I’m left alone.
Gnawing on a bloody bone.
I’m soaked in gore, it covers my face.
I’ve wreaked havoc everyplace.
Overhead, I hear a whop whop bird.
A metallic wing-beat, I’ve never heard.
I feel a stinging in my neck.
I drop silently to the deck.
I know now what waits in store.
I return to suffer in Hell some more.
Back to Hell, again to burn.
Until the next time I return.
D.L. Crockett 10/29/1997